Our Temporal Existence
by mimire
Summary: Aya has written his future over a dozen times, but beautiful endings don’t exist. YxA friendship.


**Title:** Our Temporal Existence  
**Warnings:** Death, angst, language, spoilers regarding Aya's name, no yaoi, and some pretty cheesy dialogue. Also, horribly un-edited because, well, I just got really tired.  
**Synopsis:** In the aftermath of Aya's death, Yohji copes and eventually learns that coming to terms with death was never a difficult thing after all.  
**Disclaimer: **If it gets me in trouble, it wasn't me.

* * *

_for you, who would not want it_

Even though you'll only laugh at me if I told you I wrote about anime characters to make myself feel better when you died, anything is better than knowing firsthand that life will return to the way it always was, working around that empty spot like you were never in it.

* * *

The real Aya Fujimiya died on a late Friday evening. Yohji knew this, and could provide the precise time to the second if asked, only because exactly seven minutes later, her brother unknowingly followed her into the afterlife. This was, of course, a fitting end because Yohji couldn't imagine a world in which Aya could stand to live a moment longer than his dearly departed sister. It was understandable that he would want to follow her, however blindly, wherever she went.

Yohji didn't assume his understanding of obsessions such as these was unfounded and his own nightmares were a testament to that belief. Though, for Yohji, fixations were multi-faceted: Perhaps even beyond the love and hate of women, he would, in fact, admit nicotine to be his true vice, knowing that he more than craved the calm it instilled and the feel of it carrying into his lungs as he mentally urged his hands to refrain from lighting up then and there.

He stood there in the terrace looking out onto the bitter fall season that had begun to settle in and studied his gloved hand, chilled leather emitting small creaks of protest as he flexed and un-flexed his fingers. It wasn't as if the situation didn't call for it, nor would anyone protest; the only person volatile enough to actually make him listen was slowly burning to ashes before his eyes. Yohji simply felt that smoking would turn the event of Aya's cremation even more casual than it already felt.

Ken seemed impatient, stalking up and down with heavy steps, breaking the concrete stillness that had formed after a single failed attempt to lighten the mood. No one laughed at the cremator's tactless joke that in all his years of working, he'd never accidentally burned someone still alive. The line had been made in jest to their watchful eyes over the proceedings, almost as if to ensure that Aya didn't suddenly rise from the dead.

But not even Omi, who normally would have felt bad for the awkward silence that fell around them, cracked a smile. The man had simply shrugged, no doubt accustomed to the complete lack of amusement displayed over his career choice, before resuming his careful watch of the retort into which Aya had disappeared earlier.

With a loud sigh and a kick to the floor, Ken finally relaxed against the wall. Two hours and counting and the process was still going, Aya unbelievably stubborn even in the throes of burning into near nothingness.

"Good thing we had Manx to take care of all that pain in the ass paperwork," he said to no one in particular, speaking just to alleviate the boredom he felt from staying in one place with nothing to do. He didn't bother waiting for a reply before continuing, "Anyway, who's the privileged bastard that gets to carry the leftovers?"

Yohji paused in his nicotine contemplations to raise a hand, "That'd be me."

Ignoring Omi's sharp reprimand to be nice to the dead man, Ken let out a snort of disgust at the idea of being related to the once cold redhead, "Lucky you." For someone who loved the optimism in children, Ken was surprisingly sarcastic when times least called for it.

Conversation died immediately after, Ken once again resuming his restless fidgeting and Omi retaining his post as the grim and serious responsible one. Yohji was beginning to hold a discussion with his aching fingers that remarkably resembled ones he had with Aya in the flower shop, where said man calmly lectured him on the imaginary pros and numerous cons of smoking.

Yohji knew it was for the best, that Aya would want to be cremated and buried with the rest of his family. But somehow, watching Ken once again glance at his watch with ill-concealed eagerness, watching the cremator absentmindedly tap an indecipherable tune against his seat, watching Omi stand with a stiffness that belied his discomfort, it didn't seem as if they had lost a vital member of their now incomplete team. Instead, he just simply couldn't get over the feeling that they were only getting rid of evidence.

With a sigh, Yohji finally clenched his fists and shoved them deep into his coat pocket, grinning somberly in Aya's general direction; Death could wait a little longer for him.

"I'm not the only one with a black lung now, though. Huh, Aya?"

The only response was a faint crackle and pop as the fire jumped.

* * *

The room stank, traces of urine and blood lingering in the air. The smell of it burned the insides of his nostrils and Aya glared in contempt at the figure cowering before him.

The man was scarcely a shadow of his former self when Aya had walked in, sword dripping slightly with the blood of the useless muscle the man had hired as guards. The moment the man acknowledged his presence had almost felt staged, brows raised in pretentious indifference, voice drawling in a way that grated on his nerves: "And who might you be?" he had asked.

Aya almost decided to forego his usual line in favor of simply beheading the man and walking right back out. It didn't matter much to know the name of the man who would kill him, especially when begging for his life was far more practical. Regardless, he offered his standard one-word introduction, voice brutally even, "Weiß."

Despite the obvious warning in Aya's voice after he calmly informed the man of his imminent death, the man did not immediately sink to his knees, apparently assuming supremacy in their situation. Leading an underground, amateur snuff film ring had likely made him impervious to mere idle threats; Aya, however, was not an idle threat.

The man scoffed at his choice of weapon, carelessly dismissing the danger with a wave of his hand with an overwhelming show of idiocy, "You're not one for subtlety now, are you? A little heroic revenge is commendable, I have to agree, but perhaps you should look into developing a little reason first before barging in like a hot-headed fool."

It was almost as if the man was blind; pure stupidity could not be the only factor in how he perceived his environment. Had Aya not been covered in blood standing before him in a previously heavily guarded room, issuing promises of death, perhaps he would have agreed. A sword was not subtle. But then, that was never Weiß' intent. It was painfully clear, to all fools but this one, that a lack of subtlety was no concern.

"I can't tell you how many young and curious girls come looking for a little fun in the wrong parts of town. Can't blame us for wanting to take advantage of that innocence. We're only human after all. As a man, you must understand that sort of hunger."

"No," Aya scowled at the man, more than vaguely disgusted he would try to appeal to him in his actions. "A beast such as yourself has no place in this world."

The harsh bark of laughter echoed about the room, "If you're trying to avenge a lost loved one, you're wasting your time. Women crave a man's attention! It's a never-ending cycle of one idiot woman replacing another; we just don't refuse anyone. Whomever it is you lost, a pretty little girlfriend, a sibling," the man smiled knowingly when Aya reluctantly reacted to the words, "I guarantee you we did her a favor."

At the smug look on the man's face, Aya wondered why he had let the man speak thus far. The idea of his sister defiled by someone like this, in a manner Manx had revealed in photographs and video clips, unconsciously made him growl low in his throat.

"Perhaps you should have devoted more time to her, if she came for attention here," he continued, each uttered word bringing him closer to his demise. "We took good care of her, I assure you. What better way to transition into death?"

In hindsight, it should have been more than slightly suspicious that his target had coolly dragged out his inevitable death; Aya should have known better than to let anger take over rational thought. Nevertheless, caution had slowly begun to abandon him at the mere mention of his sister, vulnerable and innocent to a fault, though the man couldn't have known.

Without warning, he charged forward. Only then did the man fall back in alarm, unprepared for the sudden onslaught of rage. He only managed three steps into his attack before a shot ran through the air and a distant pain blossomed and spiked from his side. Aya's would-be killer, however, could do little more than fire several poorly aimed shots in a panicked defense as the swordsman suddenly rounded on him with a decisive swing of his blade, sending a splash of red to arc along the wall behind him.

The body fell to the floor with a thud and, almost as if on cue, behind him burst in another guard. Vision red, heart beating vigorously in his ears, Aya ducked the fist aimed at his face and swung a leg to sweep the man's feet from under him. The guard landed heavily but before he could scramble back to his feet, Aya thrust the tip of his sword deep into his stomach.

An unexpected kick to his side momentarily stunned him as pain clouded his vision. The following blow to his jaw pushed him back a step and opened him to an attack that would have brought him to his knees had he not swung his sword blindly in front of him. The blade sliced cleanly through, decapitating the man within seconds.

Aya could hear the distinct sound of footsteps pounding down the hall and focused his attention on the doorway. He plunged his sword into the first man to run mindlessly through. A quick kick to the man's abdomen freed his weapon and knocked the body into the handful of other men clamoring for entrance in one move. The few seconds of distraction bought enough time for Aya to ready himself for another assault.

Finally pushing the body to the side, the next man came charging at him with a club raised high above his head. Aya easily spun away from the downward strike, using his momentum to swing a leg up and strike the man's back. The man stumbled forward as he lost his balance. When he turned to face him again, Aya dashed forward, swinging his sword up to slash along his chest.

The simultaneous cocks of two distinct guns brought his attention to the men left near the door. He barely managed to roll to the side as the first shot rang out. He rose to a low crouch and, despite the somewhat vulnerable position, threw his sword with as much power the stance allowed, sending it spiraling with precision towards its target. The blade lodged deep into one guard's chest, the man crying out as he dropped his gun and clutched the blade of the sword in a vain attempt to pull it out.

Aya used the moment the other threw a glance towards his injured comrade to push to his feet and dashed towards the unsuspecting man, keeping his eye on the gun pointed at him. He took a firm hold of the wrist holding the weapon just as the man's attention returned to him. Spinning with the wrist raised above his head, Aya brought the arm down smoothly over his shoulder. The sharp sound of bone breaking was followed by the echo of the gun clattering to the ground as the man screamed in pain. Aya followed the move with a swift elbow to the side and as the man doubled over behind him, struck the man's throat harshly as he rounded on him.

Aya grabbed the liberated gun, leveling it to shoot the man struggling for breath straight between the eyes. The struggles ceased immediately, leaving only the sound of quiet and blood pounding in his ears. Satisfied that no further disruptions would proceed, he pulled his sword free from the body on the ground and turned again to his primary target, who scuttled backwards when Aya advanced towards him a step.

"Who are you?"

Aya finally let a look of disdain to grace his features at the thought that he had been beside himself with rage only a moment earlier. This pathetic excuse of man, trembling before him when not moments ago he had been taunting and goading his way towards an unpleasant death, had not deserved even the slightest reaction.

He allowed himself a gratuitous kick to the man's groin, before stabbing his sword with vehemence into his stomach when the body instinctively curled in around the injury. He sliced a clean path from one end to the other before tearing out abruptly in a vicious twist. With a flick of his wrist, Aya sent the blood flying to the floor before lowering his weapon. Target eliminated, he loosened into a more relaxed stance.

His whole body pulsated with adrenaline, excitement setting his nerves on edge. His body was eager for more action, yet his hand was still when he raised it to his headset, speaking in short, clipped sentences, "Bombay, target down. Secure an exit."

It took a moment before his earphone cracked to life and Omi's voice came through, "Roger that, Abyssinian. I'm done here as well. Balinese and Siberian are ready to move out, just follow my lead."

After listening to Omi's directions, Aya took a step towards the door only to halt immediately as a searing pain shot up his side. He'd almost forgotten about the wound he'd sustained. The loss of any incoming danger was beginning to subdue the surge of energy that had driven him before. Gritting his teeth against the sensations of torn flesh and tissue. Aya proceeded out into the hallway and broke into a light sprint as he rounded a corner. The first explosion to shake the building caused him to stumble gracelessly and his hand instinctively shot out to steady himself against the wall before he fell face first to the floor.

Omi's voice conveniently chimed in again, belatedly warning him to stay clear of the blasts. At Aya's noncommittal grunt, he proceeded to repeat his directions. Another explosion hit just as soon as he burst out into the night air, his escape followed by a series of smaller explosions as the demolition of the structure began, courtesy of a few well-placed detonation devices.

A low whistle rang out as Aya stalked to his waiting car, Yohji falling into step beside him, "Cutting it a little close there, oh fearless leader."

Aya ignored him, hand itching to press at his aching side but unwilling to reveal such a weakness even before a teammate. Yohji remained unusually quiet for the duration of the ride home, commenting only once to complain about the morning shift he had. Aya had to refrain from biting out any caustic remarks that could potentially make him more vocal.

Yohji had kept surveillance outside the building when it would have been more useful for him to be on the inside, working with Ken to dismantle the various security personnel scattered about the location. But Yohji always did have a weak spot for women, to the point Omi considered him more reliable when the possibility of running into a damsel in distress was significantly low. To say Yohji had been offended by the assumption he would be distracted from his goal was an understatement. However, protests were few and, protests or no, Omi always had his way.

Despite the uncharacteristic silence, the drive passed without incident if he didn't count the fact that his side burned angrily with every turn, stop, and acceleration; parking his car had never before been so distressing an experience, even when he had been learning to drive.

Not trusting his weakened state to remain undetected as he struggled to pull his body from the car, Aya let Yohji take the lead. He exited only when Yohji, in a great show of camaraderie, disappeared through the door without so much as a glance towards his teammate. It was apparent his efforts to mask his pain had gone to waste: all the while, Yohji, with his knack for knowing everyone's business when he was least wanted, was none the wiser.

In the absence of his teammates' watchful eyes, Aya was able to make his way into the house without fear of confrontation. Neither Omi nor Ken was present in the kitchen. As he passed by the door to Yohji's room, he could hear someone rummaging about within and only hoped that Yohji would forego a shower that night considering he had been exempt from any extensive physical activity.

He pushed into the bathroom quietly, closing the door with a soft click behind him before resting against the wood paneling. It had taken entirely too much energy for him to make it only this far. It was likely he had already lost a good deal of blood and further agitating the injury with constant movement was only causing him more harm.

He couldn't help the hiss that escaped his lips when he gingerly peeled away the torn leather and silk to examine the wound. A new flow of blood began to trickle down his side as the fabric pulled at the tender skin around the bullet hole. Incompetent though the guards had been, he was lucky the shot had been clean and the bullet had gone straight through without serious injury. All it needed was a cleaning once he stopped the bleeding and simple dressing.

As he reached into the medicine cabinet above the sink for the first aid kit reserved for such occasions, he was completely unprepared for the voice that spoke up from behind him, echoing loudly within the small room and breaking his concentration.

"Shit, Aya."

Aya's head snapped towards the source of the curse. He had been sure he had locked the door – seeking privacy was usually an unconscious effort on his part – and yet there Yohji stood in the doorway, towel in hand and a decidedly displeased expression on his face.

"Shit, Aya," he repeated, disapproval apparent in his voice. "You drove me home with that sort of wound? What if you'd fainted from blood loss? I could have died!"

"It didn't hit anything vital," Aya objected, wanting to sound cold and assertive but instead sounding defensive and unsure, even to his own ears. After going through all the trouble to keep his injury a secret, he could only blame it on the fact that he was unprepared for any sort of divine teammate intervention.

"Fuck. Well, I figured since you're still alive," Yohji scoffed as he threw the towel to the side and approached the other man. "Let me see that."

"It's only a superficial wound. I'll be fine," he held up a hand, as if to push Yohji away, but stopped just short of actually touching him.

A snort was his only reply as the raised hand was pushed aside. "I don't disagree," he stated finally after eyeing the wound.

Frustrated with Yohji's persistence, Aya roughly slapped the hand away then, only to have it return immediately just as gentle as before. He clenched his fists in anger to refrain from further physical action, choosing instead to rely on his voice, "I said, I'll be fine. I can take care of it."

"And I said I believe you," Yohji spoke as if speaking to a child, as if Aya was not a fellow assassin with a wide variety of injury experience behind him and he was only being humored. "But I'm still going to take a look at this. Go lie down, I need to get some ice to stop the flow." Pulling some gauze from the kit Aya had retrieved earlier, Yohji pushed it into Aya's hand and guided it to his side. "And hold that there. I'll be right back."

The only thing that kept the back of Yohji's over-confident head safe from the roll of gauze as he walked out was the fact that Aya really did need to stop the bleeding. The sooner he was treated, the sooner the nosy idiot would leave him alone. It was impossible for him to dress his wounds before the other returned, so the only choice he had was to lie down in his room and wait, knees raised to prevent the blood from rushing back towards his abdomen.

Yohji walked in a few moments later with a small plastic bucket and towel in hand. He took in Aya's lying form and grinned half-heartedly, "Great, you actually listened. Must've lost more blood than I originally thought."

Throwing his free arm over his eyes, Aya scowled, "Shut up, Yohji. Just finish up and leave."

"Yes, Boss," the blond mock-saluted.

He did abstain from further commentary, unusually quiet and concentrated as he tended to the wound. As the blood was gently wiped away with a wet washcloth, Aya prepared himself for the cleaning. The alcohol burned, as if a searing hot coal had been pushed into his tender skin and twisted around in slow, agonizing circles. All he could do was fist his hands in the bed sheets as Yohji proceeded to press a sterile pad over the wound before helping him into a sitting position so he could wrap the gauze around his torso.

Allowing Aya a moment to collect himself, Yohji gathered the materials into the bucket before rising from his seat beside the bed. "You're lucky it was nothing serious. There doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding, no vital organs hit. Pretty damn lucky for the crazy shit that you do."

Aya didn't respond as he eased back into his previous position stretched out on the bed, ready to drift into sleep as the night's activities began to take their toll on his body. Yohji stood beside the bed for a minute longer, observing the stiff form and movement, but ultimately knew a dismissal when he saw one. With a sigh, he walked to the doorway and paused once again to turn back towards the occupant of the bed.

"You're no good to us dead, Aya. Try to remember that," he offered softly before closing the door behind him.

Aya remembered. In this line of work, it was impossible to ever forget, but there were worse things than dying. Such as in his case, where living was the greater evil of the two.

* * *

"Where's Aya?"

The question was barely comprehensible through the enormous yawn that took over half of Ken's face as he walked into the kitchen, arms extended above his head in an early morning stretch.

His inquiry was thoroughly ignored by the only other occupant of the room; it was too early in the morning for Yohji to deal with the loudness. Despite the redhead's absence, whose grumpy exterior was often felt miles away, an all-encompassing denseness hung about the room. It was as if the mere fact that he had once been present was enough to dampen the early morning spirit Yohji liked to think he had.

"Oh! There he is!" Moving to the far counter, next to the refrigerator, Ken bent low to face the cardboard box wedged innocuously between a toaster and jar full of sugar packets – where it had been deposited several days ago and thereafter avoided like the plague. "Good morning, Aya!" He greeted with a friendly smile and wave.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Yohji didn't even blink at Ken's antics, instead choosing to offer lightly, "That's not creepy."

Ken straightened from his hunch, making a face at the sarcasm laced in the man's voice, "And leaving him here isn't?" Valid point made, he proceeded to push the topic, "Besides, Aya can't yell at me for trying to be civil to him anymore. This is the first time he didn't try to kill me after talking to him."

Apparently, Yohji thought spitefully, some unknown force had gifted the brunette with what he wrongly thought to be intelligence that morning and he seemed to be utilizing it to its full extent before it became – mercifully – inaccessible again.

"Is there any coffee left?"

Innocent to Yohji's line of thought, Ken reached into the cupboard as he eyed the steaming cup of coffee in the other's hand, unconsciously bypassing what was unofficially Aya's in favor of one chipped at the rim.

Yohji glanced at the coffee maker before turning back to the newspaper. "I don't know. Check."

"Well, thanks, Yohji. You're such a great help," Ken frowned and peered into the pot. He was relieved to find that there was enough to get the caffeine rushing through his veins for the day.

"You're welcome."

Coffee in hand, Ken walked to the seat opposite his blond teammate and placed the mug down onto the table as he slipped into the wooden chair. Several minutes went by without a sound as he studied his friend through the rising steam.

The scrutiny didn't go unnoticed by Yohji, who raised his eyes in annoyance, "What?" He didn't bother hiding the irritation in his voice.

Ken seemed to take it as his cue to start on his coffee, leisurely sipping the drink as if he had all the time in the world. It was obvious that his silence wouldn't be enough to appease the other's curiosity, especially when it was fueled by impatience. Eventually he shrugged nonchalantly, hoping the matter would pass. When Yohji didn't relent on his own expectant stare, he gestured to the neglected paper clenched in Yohji's hands, "You done with that?"

The paper almost hit him full in the face as it unexpectedly flew across the table. "Guess so," Ken called to Yohji's retreating back and then muttered under his breath when he could no longer hear the angry footsteps, "I almost lost a fucking eye, asshole."

"Would've served you right!" Yohji's disembodied voice floated into the room.

Ignoring Ken's shout of outrage, Yohji pulled his shoes on at the front door, fiercely drawing the laces toward him and fastening them into tight, angry bows. He kicked the ground as he rose, tapping the tips of his toes to the floor so his feet could settle somewhat comfortably into the secure coffin he had just placed them, and stepped out into the brisk morning air. He paused in the doorway to soak in the warmth, though it did little to loosen the churning knot in his gut.

To his credit, Yohji knew exactly what was on Ken's mind and, despite the fact it agitated him to no end, couldn't blame him for his aberrant behavior. He knew he was being unfair to the remainder of team Weiß with his unwillingness to discuss the matter of Aya's remains, but the strange path his thoughts had taken on the day of the cremation had remained with him since.

Despite having acquired legal rights to Aya's remains and despite the very obvious necessity of respecting these same remains so Aya's spirit could peacefully pass on, Yohji found himself at a standstill, from which neither Omi nor Ken, with their own unwillingness to take proper initiative, could pull him. Aya's sister had almost immediately been buried in the family grave spot designated for her, but they were each inexplicably attached to Aya in a way that had not been apparent when he was alive.

Omi, while controlling, was far too diplomatic to simply order that Yohji do away with the box. Instead, he chose to neatly ignore the topic in hope that Yohji would come to terms with whatever was raging within him soon enough. Ken, on the other hand, had resorted to acknowledging the box's presence whenever possible with the obvious objective of eventually wearing Yohji down. The morning's display had only been a mere extension of this purpose.

Common though death may be, it should not have been so easy to remove from one's life a body that had once been so present within it. It was simple for Omi and Ken to disassociate from the responsibility that pressured Yohji into inaction. Maybe, perhaps, highly unlikely, for them, death really was as simple as The End.

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make, dear Aya," Yohji sighed to himself, slowing from his anger driven pace when he realized his breaths were coming in quick, sharp puffs.

He paused at the intersection, barely aware of the sea of pedestrians continuing their movement around him as he took in the scent of city life around him. He eyed the area his aimless walking had taken him, recognizing none of the shops that lined the street. It wasn't often he shopped for anything other than the bare necessities despite his rather eccentric taste in clothing. Even more rare did the shopping extend to home décor.

Wanting to escape the heavy throng of people around him, he turned into the first shop on his left when he resumed walking. The immediate onslaught of quiet when the door closed behind him with a jingle was almost deafening.

The shopkeeper's voice rang out in a cheery welcome as he began to wander through the store, peering at what appeared to be antique - or imitations of antique, he wouldn't claim himself an expert - carvings, vases, and the like.

The traditional pieces did nothing to spark any interest within him. He could appreciate beauty, but curiosity for the arts was not a hobby he pursued, or even possessed. If he was looking for distraction, he almost regretted his decision to indiscriminately enter this shop over the many others.

He paused in his browsing at random, lifting the first piece he saw from its wooden pedestal to examine it in detail. The rounded jar was covered in a non-descript flower patterning, large petals and leaves blending into each other to create the image of mere lines. Adding to that illusion, the only colors other than the white outline was the dark maroon that transitioned to a bluish-purple, filling inside the outlined spaces in no noticeable pattern.

Yohji lifted the lid, edging trimmed with gold, and peered inside – empty. Replacing the lid, he held the object at eye level and rotated it to view it at different angles. It was rather ugly, he concluded, but he shrugged to himself and carried it to the front of the shop.

The man at the cashier disappeared into the back of the store when Yohji placed his item on the counter, returning a moment later with a box and tissue in hand. Yohji watched as he packed the delicate piece with extreme care, making the wrapping look like a work of art in itself. When he was done, he pushed the box in Yohji's direction before punching the purchase into the register.

"120,460 yen, please."

Yohji paused in reaching for his wallet, looking at the man in case he had heard wrong. "What?"

"One hundred, twenty thousand, four hundred and sixty yen, please," the shopkeeper repeated, slowing his speech into more distinct syllables.

"You've got to be shitting me," Yohji mumbled under his breath as he passed his card, watching as it slid along the side of the computer before being handed back to him. He knew it could only be his imagination, but he could swear the card already felt lighter as he slipped it back into his wallet. It didn't help that he could think of a thousand and one things he would rather buy instead, and so forcefully resigned himself to the fact that he had just dealt a major blow to his bank account.

The push of early morning civilians was easier to resist on his second try and Yohji weaved easily through. He headed back in the direction from which he vaguely remembered coming, finding himself blindly tracing steps before reaching the ever familiar flower shop.

At this time, the sidewalk before it was empty but a few hours would find the three remaining workers once again surrounded by girls shining in all their adolescent, too young for Yohji's morals glory. When news of Aya's "transfer" had spread, the number of worshipers had dipped noticeably, Aya's loyal followers mercifully losing incentive to linger about the shop.

While the sharp decline in fans was a relief, no longer was there anyone lacking enough in social skills to willingly chastise their customers for not making any purchases.

Yohji nearly cringed at the thought, for once completely adverse to the idea of flirting with the doting crowd of pre-pubescent girls. In the absence of any deterrent or buffer for his actions, the task was truly daunting; idol worship really was a dangerous love.

He walked around to the side of the building to let himself into the kitchen and almost ran into Omi as he passed by the door.

"Yohji! You're home!" The smile on the boy's face was genuine in its relief as he spoke, "We were worried about you when you didn't come back after a while."

Ken, who had just walked in, snorted at the remark, "No, Omi was; I wasn't."

Yohji rolled his eyes as Omi shot a reprimanding look in Ken's direction and nodded his head to let them know he understood. He moved past the shorter blond and, disregarding their questioning stares, placed the bag he carried with him onto the table. He grinned in their direction as he tapped the box through the bag, "I finally have a solution for all our problems."

"Yohji," Omi ventured slowly, weighing his words carefully, "You know I don't drink."

Yohji dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But Ken does."

At their skeptical looks, he laughed out loud. He ignored their curious glances when he pulled the unmarked box from the bag, setting it down with a flourish as he pushed the bag to the side. When he removed his new purchase, he held it proudly with both hands, presenting it to his teammates with immense self-satisfaction.

Omi was the first to understand, if the slight furrowing of his brows was any indication, and if he had any contrary thoughts, they remained unvoiced. It took Ken until Yohji moved to grab the box on the counter for realization to dawn on him. When it did, he shook his head.

"What, you're not going to keep him around here, are you?" Yohji just shrugged, not really caring at that particular moment for Ken's opinions on the matter. Although his disinterest was obvious, Ken went on, "That's just disturbing. I thought we were going to scatter him around, or something. You know, do him a favor and let him go."

Despite Ken's rather weak protests, both he and Omi helped set up a small station on the kitchen floor, watching as Yohji painstakingly transferred every ounce of Aya's cremains into the new container. Omi gathered what little had spilled into the newspapers they laid for that very purpose, using the paper as a scoop to pour the remaining ash with steady hands. Ken refused to touch anything, claiming they wouldn't want his clumsiness around such a delicate operation and, out of sympathy for his pride, neither pushed the subject.

Yohji felt like a primary school teacher as Omi and Ken followed him like devoted pupils out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, where he made room on the dresser by shoving aside several wrappers and moving his ashtray to the bedside table. He stood back once the area had been cleared, admiring the new addition to his room.

"Who's creepy now?"

Ken's tone was light, and a tension that neither Omi nor Yohji had noticed earlier was missing from his shoulders, the difference between lax and stiff so clear then it should have been obvious before. Omi nodded in agreement to Ken's words. If either of them questioned why Yohji's room had become Aya's official resting place, neither said a word.

"I hope you realize that your room is going to be a lot messier now that we have to pay our respects here. And I better not catch you beating off anywhere near that! Wouldn't want to give the guy any more reason to kill us."

Ken dodged the punch aimed for his side, laughing as he exited the room and obviously pleased with his newfound wit. Omi patted Yohji's arm consolingly, but his words did little to assuage his exasperation, "He didn't mean it like that, Yohji."

"That's not why I'm angry!"

Omi nodded encouragingly, clearly not believing him, and Yohji grit his teeth before releasing a long, slow breath. He was going to have to do something about Ken's rapidly degenerating humor lest their deceased teammate's spirit really did come back to strike him as he slept - retaliation for even insinuating such an act could take place near his remains.

Giving one last pat, Omi walked out with a small wave over his shoulder. He called out, "Remember, we open up shop in an hour."

Yohji nodded absently, already moving to clean the space. Some respect was compulsory, he figured, as he collected the dirty clothes that had accumulated on the floor over the past few weeks. It would be an effort to keep the place in an acceptable condition but a compromise was in order if he really intended to keep the remains in his room.

He almost didn't recognize the place when he was done and whistled in appreciation for the fruits of his labor. Though his efforts would never be accepted by Aya's warped perception of clean, he figured that his room was at least better than Ken's, where the floor never saw the light of day.

He stared at the container sitting on his dresser like it belonged there, thinking of Aya's sister in her rightful burial spot, near her family. But here, too, was Aya's family, though he would never admit it. There was something strangely comforting about the idea of Aya in a small vase perched on his dresser, even if watching his back in the afterlife had its drawbacks.

"This really is going to make jacking off a little awkward, " he noted dryly, throwing at the urn a smile that felt heavy at the ends. Even more frustrating still, he thought as he pressed a hand to his eyes, it had begun to rain.

* * *

"Ken! Hurry and bring the flowers in! They're getting ruined!"

Ken, hands already full with two large pots, nearly slipped on a puddle of water as he shouted back to Omi, "I'm already on it!" He threw Yohji a glare before snapping out, "Why aren't you helping? And where the hell is Aya?"

Yohji wanted to pretend he hadn't heard, already pretending he was too occupied with watering flowers near the back of the shop to do much of anything else, but his automatic shrug to Ken's questioning blew his own cover. If it weren't for the fact that not helping would only prolong his own shift, he would have gone on playing oblivious anyway.

Instead, he sighed with resignation and slowly made his way to where Ken was frantically running in and out of the shop. He stared out at of the raging storm and dark clouds covering every inch of sky, silently cursing his reactions, before dashing out and grabbing the nearest thing he could. He ran back in immediately, barely dodging a frantic Ken on his way out.

Aya emerged just as the last of the flowers had been brought in, taking in their haphazard set-up about the shop as Omi maneuvered a mop around them. "Are any of them damaged?"

Omi shook his head, motioning to the two soaked individuals, "They were pretty quick."

Yohji looked up from where he and Ken were toweling their hair dry and whispered quietly to Ken, "Unlike a certain someone else we know."

Neither Omi nor Aya spared the secretive laughter coming from the other two any attention, instead focusing on moving the pots into a more presentable arrangement. Aya flipped the shop sign to "closed" and pulled the shutter down as Omi finished moving the final pot against the wall.

After dusting his hands clean of dirt, Omi straightened from his hunch to stretch his tired back and gave one last look around the shop. Yohji and Ken had already begun wiping down the counters and so he turned back to Aya, who was moving to the cash register, "I'm going to call for some pizza. You guys are good to finish here, right?"

At the three affirmatives he received, he walked out to grab the phone in the kitchen.

"Oh!" Ken cried suddenly before throwing down his towel. "I forgot to tell him what I want."

"He already knows what you want!" Yohji shouted after him, but Ken had already taken off into a run to follow his teammate. "Idiot just wanted to get out of this," he muttered to himself.

Shaking his head at being left behind with cleaning duty, he nodded his head towards the other towel when Aya glanced up at him. "Want to help me here, buddy?"

Aya didn't bother with a response as he retrieved the money from the cash register. Of course it was a rhetorical question, Yohji thought. The moment passed in silence as Aya calculated the sales from the day in their record book and Yohji finished wiping the last of the counters. With a contented sigh, Yohji stretched his arms up and behind his head, satisfied with the days work.

"I need a smoke," Yohji declared. Not waiting for a response, he made his way through the shop, passing Omi in the kitchen on the way out the backdoor. Ken was nowhere in sight.

He stood under the small overhang just outside the door to shield himself from the heavy downpour, but the wind was still biting cold as it struck his unprotected frame. His hand trembled as he lit a cigarette and brought it to his lips, but the first drag was more than worth it. He closed his eyes, taking in the scent of rain and wet cement. The sound of the thundering clouds and hard rain pelting the ground before him was almost soothing, dulling his thoughts to a distant blur.

The rattle of the door opening behind brought his attention back into focus. He turned to find Omi peaking his head from around the wood.

"Food," he said, gesturing behind him with his thumb.

"I'll be there in a minute."

Omi nodded and disappeared back inside. Yohji took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out.

The smell of warm pizza hit him as soon as he walked inside and he took his seat at the table as Omi sat down with a glass of water in hand. The pizza could only just have arrived, but the pile of slices and smear of grease and sauce on Ken's plate made it look as if he'd devoured two whole pizzas already. A peak inside the boxes reassured Yohji that there was still more than enough left for him.

As he took his seat beside the other two at the table, it took him a moment to realize the fourth seat was suspiciously empty.

"What happened to Aya?"

Omi shrugged as Ken answered around a mouthful of chewed pizza, "He said he wasn't hungry."

"Great. Then he won't mind me finishing off his portion," Yohji said as he reached for the box only to have his hand slapped away by a fierce Ken.

"Nuh-uh. I already claimed those pieces," the brunette declared.

"What the hell are you hitting me for? I haven't even had one yet, you pig."

Ken eyed him distrustfully as he reached for several slices and Omi rolled his eyes at the two before bursting Ken's bubble. "Relax, Ken. Yohji isn't going to take your pieces," he said, stressing the possessive before continuing. "Because, actually, Aya already said I can have his share."

Yohji laughed at Ken's immediate denial, happy that Omi would likely win the much sought after serving. Ken was lucky that, in the end, Omi didn't have as voracious appetite as some and after a brief battle, Ken and Yohji divided the remaining pieces evenly between them. With all conflict resolved, dinner was a quick, satiating affair.

Yohji patted his belly contentedly as he walked up the stairs. "Too full," he declared to himself.

Aya's door opened just as he was passing by and the redhead emerged, clothed in his casual gear, complete with garish orange sweater and all.

"Where are you going looking so stylish?" Yohji asked diplomatically.

Aya ignored the question, instead responding with a simple, "I'll be back."

"Says the guy who gets shot and acts like nothing happened."

But Aya was already rounding the corner and heading down the stairs. He hadn't needed to answer anyway, Yohji already knowing with confidence that the only place Aya ever truly cared to go was to visit his sister in the hospital.

Yohji couldn't blame him, or even judge him, for his commitments, as he himself was not without his own faults. Especially, perhaps, since Aya's path to the world of assassins had been slightly more altruistic than his own. But the way in which the man carried through with his duties lacked a sense of compassion that Yohji prided himself in preserving. Even Ken and Omi, both of whom were as tainted as the rest of them, were able to maintain a sense of humanity.

It sometimes occurred to him that Aya was somewhat lacking, and sometimes he even wanted to say as much. But every time the desire to do so arose, he would be reminded of the fact that his own demons hardly gave his opinions any credibility. Aya, after all, could never claim he had once abandoned that which was most important to him. In fact, maybe it wasn't Aya, but Yohji instead, who was lacking.

The thought unsettled him, coming to him more often than he would have liked. He didn't know if a person could think of something so often if it weren't true -- it had to have originated from somewhere. He wondered if Aya ever came to the same conclusions too, if whatever thoughts brewing in his reticent teammate's head ever aligned with his own.

Yohji stood on the rooftop, gazing down at the city life below him. Outwardly, with the bright lights, twinkling stars and laughter, there seemed to be nothing but happiness. It seemed that a veil dropped over everyone the second they left the comforts of their homes: what he noticed, he noticed; what he didn't made it mistakenly appear as if nothing was there. But it couldn't be that he was the only soul in all of Tokyo to have doubts and regrets.

The door opened behind him and a quick glance over his shoulder revealed Aya paused in the doorway.

"So you're back," Yohji said by way of greeting.

He turned again to face the city and was somewhat surprised when Aya moved to stand beside him, a comfortable distance apart. He hated to break the companionable silence, but he found himself forming words when they weren't needed. He filled the air with talk of Omi and Ken, of past missions, of nothing in general. Aya never said a word.

Eventually he lapsed into silence again, focusing his attention on the streets below. A couple walked directly beneath them, huddled together against the wind. Bits of their conversation reached his ears but he couldn't pick apart anything besides the occasional dips in their voices. He pointed down to them, asking lightly, "Do you think they're happy?"

Aya's gaze followed the line Yohji's arm created, watching as the couple disappeared around a corner. When he could no longer see them, he shrugged, "I wouldn't know."

Yohji nodded. "That's true," he said. "We don't really seem to know anything, do we?" He turned to lean against the railing, letting out a deep yawn. He glanced down at his watch. "It's getting late. You heading in anytime soon?"

"No."

"Me neither. I hope you don't mind the company," he stated, never mind the fact that had Aya wanted to be alone, he would never have stepped foot outside with Yohji there. That detail, in itself, roused Yohji's curiosity: Aya had unconsciously sought company, whether or not he realized it yet. He didn't know why he spoke his next words, but they were already formed and on their way before he could think to stop them.

"We're here for you, Aya. You know that, right?"

He hadn't meant to insinuate he thought Aya needed help; the last thing he wanted to do was irritate him into leaving. "I mean, we're a team. Sometimes things concern us too," he elaborated, still unable to fully express his thoughts. Before he could launch into yet another explanation, Aya's voice spoke up.

"I know."

The reply was simple enough that Yohji wondered if he really did understand. There were concerns, and then there were concerns; Aya's well-being was more than a condition, it was a vital aspect of their team dynamics. The success of their missions rested in each of their hands, collectively. And yet, there was more to it than mere missions. They could manage a mission with three, or even two, members.

It wasn't unusual for him to embark on an assignment, wondering in the midst if it was worth returning from. And every time the thought entered his mind, he dispelled it immediately. He was embarrassed for the weakness, even if it was in the recesses of his own mind. Difficulty didn't lie in the act of giving up; it was only making it through that remained a struggle. In that way, he knew he understood Aya -- more than the other would ever realize.

Yohji eyed Aya's profile, taking in the strong features that rarely revealed his thoughts. But, as with the city life around him, there was always more to it than what he perceived. "If you really know," he said, "then you should take more care to stay alive."

He felt like he'd dropped a bomb, wary of the reaction to his words, but Aya responded simply, "It isn't my intention to die, if that's what you mean."

It was. "It's not. But, in that case: promise," he pushed for assurance. He stared at Aya, gaze locked, until the other nodded. The movement was barely perceptible but it was more than enough for Yohji. He grinned, clapping a hand against Aya's shoulder. "I don't know why you're being so agreeable tonight, but that's good to know."

Aya would never know how much.

* * *

"Buy something or leave!"

Omi almost dropped a pot as the unexpected shout rang out in the flower shop. Ken was left staring in wonder.

The sudden chorus of over twenty simultaneous whines erupted by Yohji's ears and the girl nearest to him latched onto his arm with a pout he sincerely hoped she did not think was endearing. "Yohji!" The way she spoke almost made him hate the person who named him, "Why are you being so mean?"

The question dragged at the end, becoming one long string that simply pissed Yohji off. He knew better than to let his irritation show, but the anger festering and churning so furiously in his gut had made him work furiously for actions and words that normally came to him without thought.

As another girl gripped his other arm tightly, mouth beginning to form words that would no doubt be flirty and cute, Yohji had visions of throwing her off to the side, the many other girls following suit as he tossed them about in a fit of rage. They would probably still return the next day, broken and bruised, equally obsessive and adoring as before.

Another grip suddenly closed around his wrist, unusually strong compared to the other females in the shop. He blinked into Ken's steady gaze before glancing down, belatedly realizing his fingers had unconsciously reached for his wire -- thankfully not present, instead sitting safely atop his dresser.

Yohji sighed shakily, and only then did Ken release his grip, hiding any uneasiness from the oblivious with an easy-going smile.

"This is what you get for drinking and partying all night, Yohji, when you have work the next morning. I wanted to let you sit out here and suffer, but Omi says to get some rest."

Yohji pretended to laugh along with Ken's act, thankful for the excuse for his behavior. "Excuse me, ladies," he said in a voice he hoped held his usual playfulness as he extracted his body from the crowd. The chorus of whines as he disappeared into the back only made him want to roll his eyes, but he collapsed with relief against the door the second it closed. The headache that had been throbbing distantly all morning was suddenly unbearable.

Although grateful for Omi and Ken understanding his near breakdown, he only felt agitated that he even felt this way to begin with, like a confirmation of his weakness. If either of his two remaining teammates held the same concerns, there was no outside indication. It was only he: unforgivably weak Yohji.

He didn't know how long he sat there, cradling his aching head in his hands before there was a knock on the door behind him, causing minute vibrations to run down his back. At the sound of his name, Yohji shook himself into awareness, slapping his cheeks earnestly. He slowly pulled himself to a standing position and opened the door to find a worried looking Omi taking in his tired appearance.

"You don't have to go, Yohji."

He hated the gentleness in Omi's voice; he shouldn't have needed it. He could feel the resentment slowly steeling his body, straightening his back as he glared down at the blond from his full height. "Omi," he said with as much coldness he could muster. "Shut up."

Omi wasn't upset by the angry threat in Yohji's voice; instead he looked strangely relieved. He nodded before turning and walking away. No one bothered Yohji for the rest of the day.

At dark, the three gathered in the mission room, going over the logistics of their mission for the night. It was a cookie-cutter mission, the same as always: goal, eliminate cruel bastard of a target. The only difference lay in the details surrounding the reason for elimination and the physical surroundings.

The target was managing several illegal fight rings – brutal, to the death fights, of which the participants were mostly unwilling. Amassing a fortune from bets on these fights, he did what naturally came to those made rich from another's misfortune: he sought to expand his power and wealth in the underground world. It was nothing that piqued Yohji's interest, the suffering of men, but the winner's prize occasionally included underage girls and his sense of justice refused to let him stay uninvolved.

That, and the fact Weiß had only recently become a three-man team again; without him, there were only two. Sending them out alone would have been both unfair and selfish. He may not have been fond of men, but the lives of his teammates were worth more than his personal biases.

It didn't help that this was their first mission since Aya died.

Pulling up to the building, Yohji parked his car inconspicuously in the shadows. He climbed out slowly and signaled to Omi and Ken over the headset, "All right," he said. "Siberian, Bombay, we ready?"

After two energetic confirmations, the silence that followed only seemed that much more prominent with the lack of Aya's usual response. With a sigh, Yohji pretended that the tremor in his hands as he adjusted his gloves was only the fault of the penetrating night air.

As if sensing Yohji's hesitance, Ken's voice came again through the headset, "Don't worry about a thing. I got your back."

"I know," he whispered quietly to himself, repeating the words again just as quietly. Yohji hadn't doubted either of his teammates for a second, but the words were still reassuring. Yohji had always known that, even with Aya's absence, they would be able to function properly: incomplete or no, they were still a team. They had, after all, been without him in the beginning, though that past seemed a distant reality – a reality away from reality, lacking any tangible base or connection to their present.

As suddenly as Aya had been integrated into the team, he had been taken out. Yohji wasn't sure what unnerved him most about that fact, but it stood that their future was changing once again and Aya was not in it.

Nodding to himself, Yohji glared up at the building. It took a moment before he could reply back to Ken's remark, and when he did, he didn't bother keeping the teasing tone from his voice, "Don't forget about dear Bombay. And make sure to watch your own too."

"Thanks, Balinese," Omi's voice held a hint of amusement despite the seriousness of their situation.

"Yeah, thanks. I appreciate the judicious advice, Balin-ass. This is my first time, after all."

Yohji didn't fight the grin that rose at Ken's sarcasm. He nodded, though Ken couldn't see. "Just making sure, Siberian. Just making sure."

* * *

Yohji could feel the sweat rolling down his temple, marking a trail down his cheek, curving around his chin to slow near his Adam's apple. His collar felt thick and heavy, the humidity in the vent stifling and oppressive as he crawled through. It was unfortunate it had come to this, their mission going awry as it often did; the number of times their mission had not deviated from their carefully – or perhaps not so carefully, considering – laid plans, he didn't even need a hand to count.

"And every time things get fucked up, the fucked-up-ness of it all increases exponentially," Yohji spat on the ground, and then instantly regretted it as he had to maneuver around it.

They had been lacking critical information, either withheld or not known. Although, taking into account their employers, it was likely the information had been deemed unimportant. However, Weiß had been sent into more dangerous missions, with less information, that the idea of not succeeding here was almost laughable.

If only everything didn't fall apart at every turn. If only they weren't crawling for their lives as opposed to engaging in their usual head-on attacks. If only they weren't being chased down by a seemingly infinite number of guards. Yes, Yohji thought, this mission had been fucked over and over and then fucked over again.

"Where the hell are these bastards coming from, anyway?" Ken's voice rang through the earpiece. It was obvious from only his voice he was craving some violence, for an outlet for his irritation and desire to go home. "I mean, who invests in so much security just because of embezzlement?"

"Could be because of where the money's coming from. But there's no doubt there's more to this than just that, Siberian," Omi voice spoke through the headset, ever the source of reason. "He wouldn't have been assigned as a target otherwise. But even knowing that, I didn't anticipate that we'd be outnumbered by this many."

"The man's just fucking paranoid, is what," Ken responded, disgruntled. "I don't care if he's working for the mafia or the president or whoever; he's not so important to need this much protection. He probably thinks - "

"Siberian," a voice broke through Ken's rant, the one word enough to silence him completely. "Stop giving away your location and shut up."

At the silence after Aya's reprimand, Yohji had a hard time believing Ken actually listened: Ken rarely took orders the way Aya dealt them. He turned back to face Aya, crouched in the small vent behind him, "Looks like he might've run into some trouble."

"He'll make it." Yohji had nothing to say to that. Only Aya seemed to have the power to effectively end any and all conversations.

The two made their way through the cramped space as quietly as they could. Finding himself positioned above a grate, Yohji looked down into the room below him. From his limited view the area appeared clear of any guards, filled with only a few cardboard boxes. No sounds were forthcoming. He motioned to Aya that he would go down and at the redhead's nod, slowly lifted the metal bars from their place. The sound of metal scraping against metal pierced the silence despite his best attempts to remain quiet.

He dropped lightly to the floor, eyes scanning around him quickly. The room was empty. Aya dropped down beside him when he stood from his crouch.

It didn't take long for him to determine the room was filled with only boxes, not a person in sight. "I have no idea where we are," he announced. They'd deviated from the route they'd memorized and he hadn't had the foresight to bring a map with him. Even doing so would have made it difficult to pinpoint their exact location as they'd been traveling by air vent.

It was obvious Aya had no idea where they were either when he spoke into his mic, "Bombay, do you read me?" After a moment, he repeated the question.

The boy responded a minute later. "Yeah, Abyssinian. I'm here. Siberian's with me."

"Good. We need to find an escape route."

"Ok. Where are you?"

"In a windowless room, filled with boxes," Yohji answered before Aya could reply.

There was a pause before Omi spoke again, "That doesn't exactly tell me a lot, Balinese."

"Well, there's no other information. And I'm not running out there without having some idea of where we might be."

"Hold on," Omi said. "The general layout of the building was fairly simple. There were several storage rooms on the fourth floor. You could be in one of those," he trailed off, thinking of the plans that had been provided. "Other than on the fourth floor, there weren't many other places they could be using as storage space. Unless you're in an unused office."

"Then you're fucked," Ken helpfully provided.

"How many offices don't have windows?" Yohji asked, trying to remain optimistic. And then immediately continued before anyone could answer for him. "Okay, a lot. Damn, but it's inhumane."

He could actually feel Omi shake his head at the comment when he responded, "We weren't exactly sent to kill Mr. Moral. In any case, there should be emergency exits at either ends of the hall. According to the maps we looked over earlier, it seems they abided by certain safety regulations despite all the illegal activities within."

Aya once again took control of the exchange, "Okay, Bombay. We'll meet you at the designated spot."

"Roger that!" With that, conversation was successfully shut off.

Aya moved to the door at the far corner of the room and paused with his hand on the knob, waiting for signs of movement or sound from the other side. It was suspiciously silent in this area when they had been attacked almost continuously before. With a nearly inaudible click, Aya twisted the handle, pulling it open to dart outside into the hall. A quick scan of the area revealed no guards. Despite the unusual calm of the situation, Yohji followed at Aya's signal.

They made their way down the corridor with no interruptions. At the end, as Omi had predicted, a red exit sign flashed above a bland door.

"This is almost too easy," Yohji whispered to his companion, who only nodded in agreement. The two pushed into the stairwell as they had entered the hall, tentatively making their way down the stairs with Aya in the lead. Yohji's nerves, and no doubt Aya's too, were on end at the relative ease with which they seemed to progress to the bottom. "Something's not right," Yohji declared.

No sooner had he spoken than the door directly one floor below them burst open with a loud clang and gunfire sounded immediately afterward. Yohji dove for cover behind the upward steps.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, only repeating the explicative as Aya crouched beside him, gunshots ringing off the stone steps as he peaked around the corner. "We have to go back up."

At Aya's push, Yohji rushed to his feet, ascending the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. The door at the next floor burst open almost the second he passed by and Aya tore into them. He didn't even blink at the screams of the man who no doubt lost his hands to Aya's sword. He knew Aya could take them as well as the group following them on his own, but he glanced back after a few minutes to confirm the redhead was still on his tail. Although he had fallen a few steps behind, he was still following.

They burst through the doorway at the top of the stairs, the cool night air descending upon them immediately. Yohji slammed the door shut behind it, frantically searching for something he could wedge up against it to bide them some time but the rooftop was bare. Aya made his way to the edge, glancing down before indicating for Yohji to come over.

"The pipes should be sturdy enough to climb down a few floors. We can drop the rest," he said, sheathing his sword and climbing onto the ledge. He tested the strength of the pipes with his weight before swinging himself back over the ledge. "You go first. I'll watch your back."

Yohji climbed over quickly, wrapping his wire around the pipes to use as a rope as Aya turned to face the door. "Aya," the name slipped before he could stop and he knew he deserved the glare the redhead sent his way. "Abyssinian," he corrected, continuing despite knowing he was wasting time with the words. "I'll be waiting at the bottom."

He didn't receive a response right away. After a moment, Aya turned fully towards Yohji, locking eyes as he nodded, "I won't take long."

It was all the confirmation Yohji needed, and he slid down the pipes, releasing the wire as he bounced down the side of the wall. Five stories wasn't too high, he reasoned. He could make it to the bottom quickly, and then Aya could follow. He had moved down a floor when he distantly heard the door at the top burst open. He couldn't see anything, but he could barely make out the strikes as Aya attacked, could almost sense the slice of the sword as it tore into flesh and bone.

When he was a safe distance, he severed his wire and dropped to the earth below. He looked up at the top of the building from the cover of the nearby brush. He could still hear the occasional gunshots and, being so far from the fight, being unable to intervene if need be, Yohji suddenly regretted letting Aya take on everyone on his own. True, he was skilled, but what could it have hurt to ensure that he would have the chance to escape as well.

A body suddenly flew over the side, arms waving futilely about. The motions did little to deter his headfirst descent, accompanied by one long wail that ended with the crack of bones breaking as he collided with the ground. Yohji only needed one glance to determine the man was not Aya. He couldn't imagine Aya screaming so weakly anyway, even if he was plummeting to his death.

Throwing his gaze back at the top of the building, he caught a figure jumping over the ledge to grab the wire. The man was no doubt Aya judging by the long coat, but he carried himself stiffly even as he slid down the makeshift rope as swiftly as was reasonable. Yohji hoped his injury wasn't serious enough to affect his descent.

He had dropped to the third floor when someone else appeared at the top of the building. A shout followed as the new guard broadcasted his finding to his colleagues and several more heads appeared at the ledge, guns pointing down at Aya's defenseless positions.

"Look out!" Yohji cried out seconds before the first shot rained down. Aya's head jerked up at the sound of his voice, taking in the firearms pointing at him. Yohji could almost read his mind from his vantage point and, true to his insight, Aya began to slide down at an alarming rate. He wished, not for the first time, he carried a gun on missions. Why exactly didn't he? Why didn't any of them, for that matter?

"Don't hit, don't hit, don't hit," he chanted to himself, watching as bullet after bullet miraculously missed Aya's descending figure. It seemed as if Aya would survive another mission through sheer luck alone again.

As if to spite his foolish hopes, Aya suddenly jerked and his grip loosened from the wire. His body fell the remaining two floors to the ground and he struck the bottom heavily.

"Fuck, Abyssinian!" Yohji let a string of curse words flow as he ran to Aya's unmoving form, hoping against hope he wouldn't get hit. He grabbed Aya's arms and dragged him away from the open space as quickly as he could; he might have caused further damage to the other's injuries, but it was better than letting him simply lay there in full view. He took shelter from where he had watched before, looking down at the dazed man. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to let him recover, "Abyssinian, I need you to start moving."

Aya's eyes had begun to flicker, his legs already noticeably weakening as he began to lose consciousness. It took a moment of Yohji's persistence to get a verbal response and when he did, it was barely a whisper.

"Yohji."

Yohji's heart froze at the sound of his name; on the one hand, at least he could still recognize him, but Aya never let their codenames slip. It was obvious even before the slip, but Aya needed medical attention. He pulled their bodies to a standing position and started to drag Aya as quickly and carefully as was possible.

"Just go," Aya wheezed.

He wanted to slap him then, if only he weren't already injured. "Idiot," he scoffed. "Why would I wait for you if I intended to leave you behind." Instead, he tightened his hold on Aya, the body beginning to feel increasingly like dead weight. "Just stay with me, Aya. We have to get out of here."

Aya didn't respond, instead slipping further into unconsciousness. Yohji tried to keep his voice calm as he announced his situation over the headset to the other two. He managed to cover a distance of several yards before the sound of someone else moving through the brush reached his ears. He lowered Aya to the ground slowly, waiting with his wire at the ready.

The sounds grew increasingly louder, and he tensed, ready for action as the person audibly came closer. He nearly collapsed as Ken tore into sight instead of the guards he had been expecting.

"Balinese! I'm so glad I found you!" Ken's face was awash with relief. His eyes darted around for their fallen comrade, "Where's Abyssinian?"

Yohji dropped down beside where he'd left him, "Here. Help me carry him. He's completely out."

Ken moved to Aya's other side, and together the two carried the limp form to where Omi was waiting. The boy took one glance at Aya, absorbing the blood that pooled noticeably through the leather, before rushing to help move him into the backseat. Yohji climbed in behind as Omi moved to the front, already on the phone with their emergency contact.

"We need to get him to a hospital!"

The matter didn't need to be pushed. Ken assumed the seat behind the wheel without further prompt and was tearing into the streets soon after. Omi's grip on the seat was tight, grimly watching Ken weave through the traffic between throwing worried looks at the back.

Yohji held Aya as sturdily as he could manage with the car in motion, hand pressed against the most obvious wound in his side, almost reminiscent of the wound Yohji had bandaged so many nights ago. Aya groaned, eyes flickering open and Yohji cut him off as soon as he saw his lips begin to move.

"Don't talk, Aya. Don't move. Just – you're going to make it," he didn't know if he was assuring Aya or himself. He didn't care that there was no logic in his words, just wanting a way to vent the thoughts that had begun running through his head the minute he'd watched Aya fall. "Shit, I shouldn't have let you take them on your own. If anything, I should've been shot instead."

"Idiot."

He jerked in surprise at the sound of Aya's weak voice, words thickly slurred, "You're no good alive, how could you be any good to us dead?"

His body went frighteningly still after the jab, eyes closing painfully, and Yohji could feel his blood freeze at the lack of life he felt in his arms. "Aya! Fuck, Aya!" In any other situation, Aya would have rejected the desperation in Yohji's voice. As it were, he could barely breathe; quick shallow gasps were all he could manage.

He tried in vain to keep him from losing consciousness, deaf to Omi and Ken doing the same in the background, but Aya stopped responding to any and all attempts ten minutes from the hospital. He stopped breathing within five.

Yohji wouldn't know until later that exactly seven minutes before Aya's last breath, the real Aya Fujimiya had breathed her own, sealing the fate of one Ran Fujimiya in that simple moment she ceased to exist. He wouldn't know until later, either, that within a few months time, he would even stop dreaming about this moment. Instead, he believed he would remember that exact instant for the rest of his life.

All he knew then was that Aya Fujimiya had only just decided he wanted to live and Yohji couldn't, for the life of him, believe in a world in which any of them could be happy. All he had in his hands was a dying man and no reason to keep him alive.

Ken made it to the hospital – miraculously in one piece – in record time, and the three stood to the side helplessly as Aya's limp form was wheeled away immediately. They each were aware, though not in detail, of the extent of Aya's injuries. The fall itself, while not exceptionally high, had come when he was already injured. Any minute discrepancy from a proper landing could have caused a fatal injury, especially since the ground had done little to cushion his landing. But, in the end, although they had managed to bring him there, they could do nothing but wait for the doctors to work their magic.

Hours passed with no word of Aya's condition before the sounds of heels tapping on the hospital floors reached his ears. He looked up, vision met with a solemn Manx. Even before she opened her mouth to speak, Yohji knew. It took a moment for the finality of the situation hit him, Omi and Ken fading from the corner of his eyes.

Aya had not made it.

Yohji didn't know why he first thought of the flower shop. If Aya had not made it, that meant Aya was dead. And if Aya was dead, then it was likely they'd lose customers. Or maybe they would gain some without Aya yelling at everyone to make purchases. Maybe it was because he had the morning shift with Aya tomorrow and Aya never backed out of his duties. It seemed a joke, that the other would not be returning with them that night, that he would not be returning with them at all, ever. In all the danger they had faced, it was almost ridiculous that he had been done in by the simplest of missions.

Manx was speaking to them in a soothing tone. He nodded to something he didn't hear and she fell silent at his response. He looked down at his hands, clasped tightly between his knees. He hadn't thought to remove his gloves as he'd waited. The leather seemed worn, ready for replacement. He could probably even have Aya's now, if he wanted. Because Aya had not made it.

Aya had not made it, and it was his fault. In the relative safety of their own home, away from the sterile white walls around them and an awkwardly gentle Manx, he admitted as much to his remaining teammates. Manx had stayed behind for them to acquire the paperwork – none of the others were yet ready to deal with the solid confirmation of Aya's death.

"Shut up," Yohji was taken aback by the vehemence in Ken's voice. His glare was just as unforgiving. "He was our teammate too. We all should have been there for him."

It was there already, the past tense, and Yohji could only marvel at Ken's acceptance. He shook his head. They couldn't understand. Aya had died because of him, because he had been watching over him. He should have done the same in return.

Omi nodded at Ken's words. "You didn't do anything wrong. Blaming yourself won't change anything," he said, steady gaze locked on Yohji. Yohji was the first to look away and when he did, Omi rose from his seat. He spoke cautiously, forcing himself to say what he knew none of them wanted to hear. "We need to… Aya needs to be… I mean, his sister, too."

Yohji almost laughed at that. Of course his sister had died too; there was not a world in their universe in which Aya would deign to live without her. He had never known her and never disliked her, but then, he couldn't help the feeling of resentment well up against her because of Aya's blind devotion. Coming to a decision, he stood too, Ken following suit as Yohji's gaze bounced between them.

"I'll do it," he announced. "I'll take care of it."

The least he could do was arrange for the aftermath. Aya deserved to be taken care of respectfully, even if he wouldn't want Yohji to be the one to do it. When neither Omi nor Ken objected, he left without another word, making for his room so that he could be alone.

Lying on his bed, he thought of funerals, burial spots, family and commitments. But mostly, he thought of a three-man Weiß. When he finally fell asleep, all he dreamt about was Aya. An Aya who was alive and well, promising to live.

* * *

The real Aya Fujimiya died on a late Sunday evening. Yohji knew this, and could once provide the exact time to the second if asked only because, not soon after, her brother unknowingly followed her into the afterlife. Yohji had once believed he would remember that time for the rest of his life, recalling with a fierce clarity the moment in which a man had died in his arms.

Looking at the urn sitting peacefully on the corner of his dresser, catching the bright light that filtered through the window, Yohji offered a smile that felt light, even around the edges.

It would be a beautiful day.

**END **

* * *

**Random (annoyingly long) Notes:**

Well, despite that huge melodramangsty mess of a dedication, I'm actually quite chipper. I started writing this almost a year ago to deal and only recently felt like I might as well finish it. I have more than a faint idea of the problems with this and if it ends too abruptly or doesn't flow, it's only because I'm ready to wash my hands of it.

Honestly, I find dialogue and mission scenes really difficult to write… So, if something in here made you point and laugh at me, please save me from humiliation. Similarly, if something made you point and say nice things about me, please save me from my no-reviews induced depression.

Anyway, did anyone catch my oh-so-subtle (read: blatant copyright infringing) Beatles tribute? The line Yohji says about taking as much love as one makes was taken verbatim from the song "The End". (This is a disclaimer.)

I know it must have been real daunting, but thank you for reading!!


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